


Unthinkable

by Lunarmuse



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Angst, But he's definitely no hero, Did I Mention Angst?, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, No Mary Sues, No Smut, Pre-Murder House, Pre-Season/Series 01, Tate isn't a monster exactly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarmuse/pseuds/Lunarmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long before Tate Langdon ever touched a gun, he was capable of the unthinkable. It simply took her longer to see it than others (Pre-S1).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in 1993, this is the story of what happened before Tate pulled the trigger the following year, and the girl who tried to change his fate.
> 
> Fair warning, if you're looking for a story where Tate is the hero, this isn't it. He's not a monster, either, but falls somewhere in between. Dark content and character portrayals may abound.

_**August 14th, 1993.** _

The first time they met was a complete and utter cliché, something better suited to a John Hughes movie than reality; two losers bonding over a mutual dislike of the 'in crowd'.

Evangeline Hendricks had barely stepped foot through the doors of the high school when it seemed the student body took a unanimous vote to dislike her.

The jury was still out on why, exactly, but the general consensus was quite clear - making friends with people in the land of plastic was going to be an uphill battle.

Uprooted from her Seattle home and moved to the sunny state of California, one would think the sudden wave of opposition would have been crushing for a seventeen year old girl, but Eve was mostly unfazed.

It wasn't as though she'd been particularly popular in Washington, either. The icy stares and cold shoulders were more dramatic than the infamous Seattle Freeze, but not altogether too different. Nothing she couldn't handle.

 _One more year of this_ , she reminded herself, _and you'll be done_.

The challenge would be making it through that year without snapping. She'd been successful three times already, and was hoping for a fourth.

With half the day down, the first obstacle she'd yet to overcome was lunch.

There was a certain hierarchy to these things, a finesse and an order she had to avoid going against. It would take a while to learn the cliques, she realized.

Instead of risking her neck, she decided for the path of least resistance - a nearly deserted corner of the cafeteria, occupied by only a handful of people.

Inhaling sharply as she built up her confidence, she walked to the least intimidating table she could find.

"Seat taken?" she asked brusquely, nodding at one of several empty seats that encircled a blonde boy who sat alone.

He sort of gave off a Nirvana vibe in her opinion, clad in a librarian sweater and ripped jeans; not a likely candidate to be an asshole about letting her sit there.

Blondie looked up slowly from his untouched tray, almost as if he were unsure he was being spoken to. He merely blinked up at Eve a few times slowly, his dark eyes full of confusion.

"What?" he asked, dazed. She began to wonder if he was a burnout. It wouldn't hurt to get to know the local stoners on her first day.

"Can I sit here?" she repeated, eyebrow raised dubiously.

"Oh, um, sure. I mean, you probably don't want to," he told her flatly, twisting the fraying edge of his sleeves in between his fingertips.

"You're new here, aren't you?" She ignored his advice and took a seat anyway, setting her tray down and crossing her legs beneath her.

"Am I _that_ obvious?" she asked with a wince. "If you weren't new, you'd know that no one sits with me," he replied, seemingly a touch amused by that fact.

"Why?" Eve asked with a smirk, chewing disinterestedly on a french fry. "You some kind of leper?"

"More of a pariah, actually. Just ask them," he corrected her, pointing over her shoulder to a table where the obviously popular kids sat. Her eyes followed to the table he pointed at.

All of the familiar usual suspects - cheerleaders, jocks, and assorted kids in expensive namebrand clothing - were currently present and laughing all too boisterously over something she was sure wasn't all that funny to begin with.

"Yeah, well, screw them. That redheaded one? She's a real bitch," Eve brushed off the importance of the little clique irritably, light eyes throwing daggers. "She tripped me in Lit class, today."

She eyeballed the group for any other familiar faces, her expression turning dark when she spotted another.

"And that jackass with the Hulk Hogan steroid thing going on, in the letterman jacket? He tried to look up my skirt."

"Sarah Matthews and Brock Hiller. Sounds about right," he said with a shrug, obviously not stunned by the antics she described.

"How charming," she seethed sarcastically, sipping from her carton of chocolate milk. " _Those_ are the people you think I'm going to let tell me where to sit, a bunch of neanderthal degenerates?"

"Social suicide is your prerogative, I guess," he answered with another shrug which did not betray how inwardly pleased he was at that moment.

"Yeah, I guess it is, whatever that means," she agreed with a shake of her head.

A beat of silence passed as they both considered what could be said next. It wasn't as though two perfect strangers had much to talk about, but the silence was maddening for Evangeline.

"I'm Eve, by the way," she broke the ice with an introduction. Blonde boy smiled easily, dimples springing up on his cheeks, and ducked his head slightly.

"Tate. Tate Langdon," he took his turn, warily offering her his hand to shake in a polite gesture.

"Nice to meet you, Tate," she returned the show of etiquette, trying to keep from smiling too widely as she shook his hand. Maybe the first day was doomed to suck.

Maybe the entire _year_ was going to be a bit of a bust, even.

But at least she could say she'd met one person worth meeting.


	2. Chapter 2

_**September 5th, 1993.** _

Time passed by, as always it did.

In a perfect or just world, things would have looked up dramatically for Evangeline in the following weeks of school, the awkwardness of first days blending into a busy social calendar and a semblance of acceptance.

In reality, however, the first day had been a relatively accurate representation of what was destined to be the rest of her high school career so far as she could see.

She had weasled her way into art club with her talent with a paintbrush, making friends within the crowd, but the merry band of jackasses, as she had fondly termed Sarah Matthews and all of her little drones, did not let up for a minute.

They missed absolutely no chance to rag on the new girl who had chosen to sit with Ta _te Langdon_ of all people, day in and day out as though she didn't realize he was a social disease.

Eve was tripped, shoved into lockers, called names - the typical rigmarole of high school bullying. She could have kicked in their teeth, Sarah or any one of them, with the steel toe of her Doc Martens, but resisted the urge daily.

The last thing she needed at home was an _actual_ reason for her mother to be pissed off in addition to the list of imagined transgressions that seemed to grow each time the woman started to drink.

" _I told you it was just gonna make things worse_ ," Tate had apologetically pointed out after a week or so of sitting with him.

She had told him to shove it, a crass but well intentioned way of telling him she didn't so much mind.

After all, the student body hadn't been fond of her before she began keeping company with him. It was better to have one friend than none at all.

And he truly _was_ someone she considered a friend. His taste in music, his favorite films, even his awkward sense of humor meshed well with Eve's dry sarcasm and interests.

Outside of her personal island of misfit toys that was art club, Tate was her lone comrade in a battle against the daily soul sucking waste that was high school. He even served as a great reprieve from the hell that was home, whiling away the afternoons with her a few days a week.

Whether he was more than just a friend to her, she was still working out. A couple of weeks just wasn't enough time for the Gemini girl to make up her mind entirely, but at that moment, her compass pointed mostly towards platonic friendship.

Unfortunately for her indecisive nature, Tate had other plans.

"Hey," he greeted her, settling down into the sand at the edge of the small patch of beach she sat on.

They regularly used the spot for a place to hang out, away from the unpredictable settings of their respective houses.

"Hey yourself," she answered with a smile. She was tossing pebbles and pieces of driftwood into the ocean, her free arm wrapped around her knees and her chin resting idly on top.

"So, tomorrow's Saturday," he announced, kicking at the sand with the toe of his Chucks. "And that Natural Born Killers movie came out last week."

"Up next, it's Tate with the weather," Eve teased as she snorted at his random assortment of information, elbowing him playfully. "What's with the fact sheet?"

"I was, uh," he paused to clear his throat, brows knitting slightly, "I was wondering if you wanted to go, y'know, see it with me."

She couldn't see it, not looking deeply enough below the surface of his nervous exterior. It may have been obvious to any other seventeen year old girl that she was being asked on a date, but one way or another, Evangeline remained blissfully unaware.

"I can't tomorrow," she answered with a wince that unintentionally turned into a smile. "I've kinda got plans."

"Plans?" Tate choked dryly, the boyish enthusiasm draining from his face like the air leaving a balloon.

Ah, yes. Those _**plans**_.

The ones that gave Eve a light thrill of excitement, a few butterflies in her stomach, when she stopped to think about them.

"Adam, the mohawked guy in my art club? He asked if I wanted to go check out this house party," she told him with all the kind of enthusiasm with which one shares such a thing with their best friend.

"I mean, I don't _like_ him, but it's kinda nice, being asked out and all," she continued, smiling to herself as she traced circles in the sand.

* * *

 

His chest was tight, his mouth dry.

He could barely breathe beneath the effort of keeping his anger contained.

His mind was all bells and whistles, in full tilt alarm mode. It wasn't right. Not how he planned it. Wasn't how things were meant to go.

He knew how it was meant to play out; he had been over it and over it in his head. He was supposed to casually ask her - had been building courage for days to ask her to see that stupid fucking movie - and she was supposed to be _happy_ that he'd asked.

Because that was what she was supposed to have wanted. He'd known that since the moment she had sat down in front of him, soul-certain after the first time their fingertips touched. She was supposed to be his.

But instead, she was prattling on like some giddy schoolgirl about a guy she didn't even like asking her out. She was blinded by some douche with flashy hair and a leather jacket, to the point that she couldn't even see _him_ sitting there, making himself vulnerable. 

No one ever did. Not his mother, not Evangeline, no one really saw him. He tried to ignore a feeling in the pit of his stomach, that same gnawing and dreadful reassurance that soon enough, they would **_all_** see him. 

He didn't want to feel that darkness creeping up in his throat like bile. He bit his lip until he tasted the coppery tang of blood on his tongue, just to keep from screaming and to keep it all inside. 

"Hey, earth to Tate, come in Tate," Evangeline's voice called him back to reality, her hand waving in front of his field of vision and bringing his glassy dark eyes back into focus. 

He composed the darkness on his face as best he was able. 

"Sorry, I must've spaced out there for a second," he apologized lamely, standing up and brushing off his jeans. "I've gotta go." 

She looked at him with a puzzled expression, trying to piece together what had happened to cause the mercurial shift in him. 

"Is everything okay?" she asked. 

"Have fun at your party," he answered, turning on his heel and jogging through the sand. 

Already, the wheels of thought were in motion, plotting and scheming on how to set things back the way they were meant to be, the way they had been in his head. 

He was going to set things back to the way they were supposed to be, whatever it took.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't forget to leave a comment or kudos if you're enjoying!


End file.
